Made’s Lover

In 1987 we had one of the first places in Seminyak, a coconut grove of 27 are, a peninsula that stretched out into the rice fields. The view was 180 degrees of an unbroken ocean of green fields stretching out to the horizon and the majestic volcanos Mt. Agung, Bratan, and Batukaru. There were no roads, flocks of white herons came to roost. Scarecrows dotted the fields. The air was thick and golden, there were hardly any cars and most roads in Seminyak were still unpaved.

Every morning the local people swept the paths, sprinkled water to keep the dust down, and laid offerings in front our door and the temples that seemed to be everywhere.

At the end of the path that led to our door, (christened Gang Dharma) was a crumbling temple of ancient red brick. Inlaid around the temple doorway were six headlamps from an old, 1930’s jalopy and a few plates of Chinese ceramic. These treasures were displayed as offerings.

We were jungle kids, our house had no walls and we slept on a platform under a mosquito net overlooking the unbroken ricefield view. We designed and built our houses and everything that went into them, furniture, and lamps, curtains all furnishings had to either be carried in from another country or made ourselves. There were no shops for these things, or few if any. Anyway, we loved doing it. We made our own clothes and jewelry, beds, bedding, and looked at it all as a necessity, but also as an expression.

Every morning we would climb down a rickety bamboo ladder walk over to the well and pump water into buckets to shower in the sunlight.

Our family consisted of Hari and Hanna 2 Kintamani dogs we were breeding, and their 4 pups., Our cockatoo Jakob, who lived unchained on a bamboo perch under a straw roof, he never saw the inside of a cage. Our dogs never saw a leash. Our 2 large geese, named Pate’ and Sate’ who wandered freely ruled the animal kingdom, with their superior intelligence and plucky character, their apex status unchallenged. We also had a large spotted cat, a beauty that resembled a lynx. His name was Cat.

Cat lived in our house keeping to the high ground to avoid conflict the dogs; he had to teach them a lesson on more than one occasion, and we all lived in fear of Cat. No human was allowed to ever touch him, myself included. We tried coaxing him with fish, or hamburger meat, but our offerings would go unaccepted. Cat was a hunter and subsisted on a diet of whatever he caught; lizards, frogs, field mice were never in short supply.

The property was a grove of 70 coconut trees and required a lot of maintenance. We were happy when Made showed up. He was a gamelan player in his local orchestra, well built. He kept his hair shorter than most Balinese at that time, his skin and hair shined and he smelled like coconut oil.

He smiled a set of perfectly white teeth, still a teenager they hadn’t been filed yet.

His job was a big one, he fed the animals, swept the garden, oversaw the cleaning of the trees and sale of the coconuts, planted vegetables and herbs as he saw fit. We built a little house for him just outside our wall. He was from Canggu which was a long drive. From Seminyak to Canggu at that time there were only rice fields, hardly a building existed anywhere along that road.

His prized possession was his sputtering motorbike that was cobbled together from old parts scavenged from various bikes that either were abandoned or he managed to buy. He returned to his banjar periodically to play in the orchestra and attend the ceremonies that are a big part of every Balinese life. He enjoyed a certain status and respect from among his peers, for he made his bike himself, with parts he bought with money he earned, and he rode it with dignity. He was strong, quiet smiling and had a silent humble strength.

At 18 years old the little money he earned working for us was divided between his temple and support of his parents who were poor rice farmers that farmed land that they didn’t own.

The number of chores on an average day around our place were too much for us to keep track of and Sally, my Japanese partner, hired Nyoman as a housemaid.

She was slightly older than us, in her 30’s, corpulent, and had 3 kids of her own. She provided a matriarchal vibe that our lifestyle was lacking.

She loved cooking and arranged the delivery of fish from the fishermen of Jimbaran, fresh veggies, procured the best rice. She ran a tight ship and was honest. She often came with one or two of her kids who played with the puppies on my studio floor while she swept, mopped, cleaned and cooked. She brought us 5 kg sacks of coffee beans that we would roast in our stove top oven and grind with a mortar and pedestal.

We hand carried one of the first expresso pots and a milk churn from Italy so we could have cappuccino. She kept our kitchen stocked with fresh herbs cinnamon, coco, pepper and mint, vanilla, coconut, chilis ,mint and basil were kept fresh in antique glass jars that were once in a Chinese apothecary. She hand washed our clothes and ironed everything and managed to always keep a cheerful attitude.

Her responsibilities included lighting the sunset mosquito coils and oil lamps before she went home at 5:00.

Her and Made the gardener worked it out between themselves and divided the labor a balance was struck, for a while things worked pretty well.

We had no TV, hardly any electricity which was sporadic at best, no phone but we never lamented these “hardships. “They were a small price to pay for the level of freedom we enjoyed.

Communications with the outside world revolved around a telex office in Kuta. When a telex would arrive from my office in New York the attendant would hop on his bicycle and pedal the 3 miles to my house and hand deliver it. If I wasn’t there it would be left on the table.

Our main entertainment was the music which came from a boom box connected to a car battery. Bootleg cassettes were one dollar each in the local tape shop Mahogany, and the volume of music available was really amazing. The sophistication and variety of their selection made it compatible with Tower Records in New York City. Some music broke in London, would be in Bali and knocked off in the tape shops before it was even available in New York.

Our friends were mostly fashion designers, artists, film makers, surfers, desperados, and adventurers who were self-employed. Whatever anyone did for a living, none of us did “normal” very well.

For our own amusement we created events, Like elaborate theme parties and theme nights, theatre, performance and legendary masquerades. We had a blues band, and for the most part created everything we needed, and no one ever charged for a meal or a drink.

My workday required daily trips to a garment factory in Denpasar, which was a beautiful motorcycle ride through the verdant rice fields between Seminyak and Denpasar. Two or three times a week I would motorcycle up to Culuk to visit the silversmiths we employed. Sometimes I’d leave around 7:00 AM and do the trip by bicycle along the deserted back roads.

No matter what the day held in store the most important appointment was to be on the beach by 4:00. We usually met the gang and discussed dinner plans, over beach paddle ball, volleyball, frisbee and surfing. The dinner party schedule was tight, you had to book in advance since among the 30 or 40 of us we fought for the chance to host.

I notice that Nyoman was putting on weight and mentioned it to Sally in the car. I was driving her to the airport, she was heading back to see her family in Tokyo. She was surprised that I didn’t know that Nyoman was pregnant. She had given her notice to Sally and would be quitting at the end of the month. I gave her a severance present and a bonus and set about looking for another penbantu to replace her.

Once the word got out a few applicants showed up every day. In our parking area was a bamboo bale with a straw roof where visitors sat until I was notified. This stopped people from walking rite into our house, and the constant stream of sellers rested there. They brought fresh fish, veggies, antiquities, textiles, offered massages, healing herbs, astrological advice, or just came for a chat.

Made the gardener took great interest in who applied for the job. He knew he would be working closely with her and I gave him the final say. This would be done with a silent glance. After a few applicants were put on hold, I asked him why he rejected one of them that I thought would have fit the bill. His answer, “Sudah kawin.” with a smile. Sudah kawin? (already married), ha! so that explained it, Made and I had different criteria for the job applicant. I laughed and let it go.

A few days later there was a knock on the garden door, I was in the garden at the time and answered it. I was greeted with a shy “hello” in English. Before me stood a delicate young and pretty Wayan. At that moment Made showed up, he was beaming a smile full of big white teeth. Behind her back he smiled and shook his head with approval, she would do I could see.

We sat in the little bale Made brought out a pitcher of water and a few glasses. She came from a small village near Sanur. She had a mountain of thick hair piled up on top of her head, a thin fragile long neck. She wore a little makeup, and took tiny graceful steps in her tight sarong. When she spoke, she rolled her eyes and gestured her wrists bent with the impossible flexibility of a Balinese dancer.

She had studied English in school, and studied dance and made it a point to let us know that she was from a good family of landowners, but had bigger plans than farm life; she was 17 years old.

I explained that she would have to get here by 7:30 every morning and that the work was hard and required cooking and cleaning and she should wear different clothes. Made immediately volunteered to pick her up and drive her in every morning. I thought that was a bit over eager of him. Wayan refused saying that she had someone from her village who came and went to Seminyak by bemo every day and she would travel with her. I agreed to pay her bemo bill in addition to her salary.

I was happy to have her in the family, but she was absolutely the worst housekeeper. She barely made a bed, hardly swept or mopped, wasn’t a good cook, I found myself cleaning up after her. In her defense, she loved the animals and took pleasure in getting to know them, they loved her too. She bathed the dogs, Jakob the cockatoo allowed her to handle him, she trained him to say “apa kabar?” She collected the goose eggs and fried them up mixed them with the dog food, she named the puppies, even the geese seemed to tolerate her. She made no progress with the cat.

She could spend the entire afternoon arranging the fresh flowers she brought, or carefully weaving straw boxes and arranging the offerings she filled them with. She cleaned out the temples on our land and convinced me to replace the bamboo Padma and Surya with proper carved sandstone ones. She oversaw all the offerings and holy day protocol, which in Bali is a big job. The landowner who usually took care of those things was happy to hand the responsibility over to her. She had him charmed too.

A few times I caught Made, whose duties hardly never required him to work inside the house, helping her with her housework.

A bamboo gamelan appeared one day. Made suddenly spent his spare time in the bale practicing his gamelan to Wayan’s appreciative glances.

I caught them having lunch in the bale together one afternoon. Something special that she brought from home. Butterflies fluttered around them in the mid-day sunshine. It was happening.

Around this time Sally returned from Japan, that evening when we were alone she came downstairs shouting in an angry voice “What is this!?” She slapped me in the face. In her hand she had a strand of long black hair. “Who has been in my bed?” she shouted. “And why are there only 9 condoms in the box (I kept on the nightstand), “there were 12 when I left!” She shouted. ”What? You counted the condoms before you left? “” Of course!” she answered matter of factly.

I laughed, it could only have been Wayan. Sally was irate. “You have to fire her! Fire her or I leave!”.

I laughed again and explained the effect that would have on the household and on Made who we came to relay on for everything. I promised to have a word with him.

It went something like this, in my limited Bahasa, “Wayan is very pretty. “ Made just smiled .“ Made please stay out of my bed. You have your own house, understand?” Made lowered his eyes embarrassed. ”Sally is very mad,” I added. He said nothing, but he got the message.

The next day we were planning to get a flight to Jogya and would be staying the night. Before we left Sally called Wayan,” I have a present for you”, she smiled. This surprised me, she opened a small bottle of perfume and doused Wayan with it copiously. See how beautiful it smells” Wayan fluttered her eyelashes smiled and thanked her.

Upon our return Sally went directly to our bed and sniffed the pillows. It was only then that I understood the meaning of her present. “Mmm no smell of perfume?” she said with a question mark of surprise. “Let’s go to the guest bungalow.” Oddly the door was unlocked, sure enough the pillows bore the sweet smell of the perfume.

The following day was a Sunday and technically nobody worked. We had the place to ourselves free of staff. While I was making coffee early that morning I noticed a strange man walking through our garden. Who was he? How did he get in? The gates were supposed to be locked.

“Hello?” I confronted him,” Who are you?” I put my arm around his shoulders brotherly, and tried to gently usher him out of the property. He took me completely by surprise, when he spun around and hugged me sobbing loudly,” I love Wayan, I love her, is she here?” I was startled and let him cry on my shoulder for a minute. “Nobody works here on Sundays” I said. He answered, “I know you are very busy here, but why does she have to work here every night?” (She never had to work a night!), ” We are very busy here.” I answered.

He explained that he knew her since childhood and that their families had arranged a marriage between them, and he was truly in love with her.

Wayan evidently had her eyes on Seminyak and the big city bright lights.

At the gate he broke down again crying, there stood a new Honda 50 cc scooter. “This is my new motorbike, I want to give it to her.” He tried to hand me the keys, “Give these to her, he sobbed. I refused to take them. “You go home, I’ll tell her you are looking for her. I’ll make sure she speaks to you, I promise”, I added and gave him my word out of pity.

When I got back in the garden Wayan and Made emerged from my guest bungalow sheepishly. I was faking to be mad, “What are you two doing in there?” I shouted in a stern voice.

Wayan heard the water gurgling and smelled the coffee burning, she went into the kitchen and pretended to make herself busy. It was approaching 7:00 am.

“Wayan” I want to talk to you I commanded, she stepped up handing me my coffee and flashed her huge eyes in an attempt to disarm me. “Who was that guy?” I asked in my stern voice. Made stepped in to save her. “If he wants trouble, then I give him trouble.” he said calmly thumbing his chest.

“Wayan,” I counseled, “you have to make a decision.” “I love Made” she blurted out loudly in simple English without any hesitation. “Then you need to go back to your family and tell them that.”, I said.

She started crying again openly without any effort to check herself. I looked at Made who stared off into space petulantly. I took his hands and wrapped his arms around her and advised, “Made, you have to know, when a woman cries, her man puts his arms around her.”

They stood like that for a while and I left them there. Jakob the cockatoo was watching the scene and when Made put his arms around her the bird started to shriek protectively. I took the bird on my shoulder, grabbed the coffee pot and retreated upstairs to give them some space to work it out. The shrieking bird had woken Sally up. “Good morning, she said with sleep in her voice, what’s going on?”

Later that afternoon the excited sound of the gamelan told the story. The usual soft mellow rhythm was replaced with a quick almost frantic staccato of Made’s impatience. After a few hours of that the racket stopped, I stepped outside and caught Made pacing furiously around the parking lot..

She had gone back to her banjar to explain and still hadn’t come back. She wouldn’t let him drive her and insisted on taking one of the open backed bemos that made the run from bemo corner in Kuta where he dropped her. She promised to be rite back.

That night she still hadn’t returned, nor the next. I gave Made the day off and cautioned him to go home to Canggu and not to go near her village. I think he took my advice.

After 4 days of no gardener or housekeeper our place was a disaster. It took no time for it to all fall apart. We tried to keep up with it, but the dishes piled up in the sink, (we still carried buckets of water in from the well in these days), the animals had crapped everywhere, coconuts were falling dangerously like bombs, the laundry was piling up, nothing had been swept. We ran out of everything.

The two of us divided the chores; I tried to do Made’s job, swept up the dead leaves, piled the coconuts, watered the garden, carried the buckets of water from the well ran to the supermarket. Sally swept and mopped, washed the dishes, the laundry and bed linen we sent out.

It was under these circumstances that we came to appreciate how much they actually did for us. What we took for granted we would never take for granted again. But the chores were taking up all our time and we were a long way from running smoothly.

One day Wayan finally showed up looking for Made, he had been gone for over a week. She announced that she had left her home and came to live here with Made and that they were getting married. “Does Made know this?” I asked. She didn’t answer, and busied herself cleaning and helping out as usual. She took refuge in Made’s house.

A few days later to everyone’s relief he returned. A friend in our banjar went out to Canggu and told him that Wayan had come back.

The next morning, they broke the news: Wayan was pregnant and they were getting married. This was against her family’s wishes but now that she was pregnant they had to approve.

Made set to making the arrangements. He consulted his local manku and they checked the astrological charts and chose a date. Her mother consulted her astrologer and made her own arrangements and they chose a different date. The day came for Made to spend the night in the temple with his mangku in purification and meditation.

Wayan, following tradition, returned to her home village and waited there for Made and his family, as custom dictates, to come and fetch her. Her family in this situation are required to receive them and provide food, and presents, entertainment, dancers, maybe a shadow play or an acted-out drama.

Made’s family dressed in their finest clothes, brought the orchestra from their Canggu Banjar, they were joyful and no expense was spared, they had built two thrones for them to sit on, garlanded it with flowers, a large pig was slaughtered and roasted, refreshments and offerings were carefully arranged, and presents for Wayan’s family were prepared. The priests had gathered and the whole village were ready for the arrival of Wayan and the big wedding ceremony scheduled for the following day.

On the way the orchestra sat in the open backed jeep playing gongs, crashing symbols and gamelans during the long bumpy ride to her village. They sang and were in a festive frenzy. Made wore a golden brocade sarong, eye makeup and rouge and had a sacred parang in his sash.

When they arrived at her family compound they were impressed and humbled. This was the compound of a rich family. The giant red brick gates were clean and perfectly maintained. The family alters were stacked with offerings and burning incense, draped with golden Prada brocaded sacred cloths and the black and white checked sacred Poleng. The compound was built of fine carved teak pillars and perfectly painted black ceramic tiles. The family pura was made of expensive black volcanic stone, carved statues of deities watched them from between the pagoda. Everything was immaculate; clean and polished, but there were no one there to greet them.

Reluctantly Wayan’s mother appeared, she was wearing a normal everyday batik sarong with a flower and bird pattern on it. A sarong with such a motif on it is usually worn for a sad occasion; a subtle insult.

According to Made’s sister “They offered nothing and there were no mats for the family to sit on. Eventually teh bottles were distributed. Made’s family made a show of refusing to take a drink. The offerings that they had worked lovingly for days to make were stacked in a corner as if unnoticed. The orchestra did not play. Wayan was nowhere to be found.

More of Wayan’s relatives arrived, none of them dressed for the occasion. A few made no secret of their dislike of these lower caste people and the thought of losing Wayan who was the gem that sparkled brightest in their village.

Putuh the boy who I had met that Sunday in my garden showed up and strutted around aggressively. Made didn’t know who he was but then it came out that he still intended to marry Wayan and had her family’s approval.

At one moment a gong sounded and dancers appeared, accompanied by the local orchestra. To the chimes of the gamelans and deep gongs, clashing symbols, thundering drums and high pitched singsong flutes dancers set about performing a scene from the Ramayana. It was the story of Ram and Sita. A lowly peasant who had fallen in love with a high caste girl. This too was a great insult to Made’s humble family and friends.

After the performance Wayan shyly made an appearance, she was dressed in a shabby sarong had no makeup on and had obviously been crying.

As custom dictates Made was supposed to take her by the arm and bring her back to his village and prepare for the next day’s wedding.

Wayan’s mother father and brothers stood between them and blocked her from going with them. A struggle ensued and the visitors returned to Canggu without her.

Made, crushed and shamed spent the night in the temple with the priests. They assured him that if it was meant to be she would come to the ceremony the next day and sit on the throne next to him as the priests chanted the sacred mantras, the incense burned and the guests one by one greeted them with their offerings.

The next day Made went to the temple followed by his entourage of family, priests and friends only to find her not in attendance. He stubbornly took his seat and sat alone on the marriage throne as the guests greeted him one by one.

“Surely she would be coming,” he tried to convince himself.

Made never returned to work in Seminyak and until this day I still have never seen him again. We went out to his banjar and asked around where we met his older sister. She spoke good English and filled us in. Made was too malu to see us. He didn’t want to come back to Seminyak.

The priests performed ceremonies to remove Made’s spirit from Wayan’s unborn child.

A few weeks later Wayan showed up at our house. We had gotten new staff and things were finally starting to run smoothly again as they learned the ropes. Sally took it upon herself to hire the new housekeeper who stayed with us for the next 25 years.

Wayan was saddened to learn that Made had never returned to our place in Seminyak. He never even retrieved the few personal possessions he kept there. She took them and stroked his old sarong held it up to her cheek with tears in her eyes.

She was pale and had lost a lot of weight. Her parents forced her to abort the child against her wishes, and go to work in the rice fields, the very same day. Her waist long hair had been cut short, her once smooth hands were chapped, her nails broken. Putuh had married someone else, she told me with a forced smile.

She still bore a slight trace of the perfume we had given her.

Over the years we continued to help her out whenever she showed up needing it, though she never worked for us again and eventually fell out of touch. It was still a long way off before they ran telephone lines to our place.

One day Wayan showed up out of the blue with a child in her arms and her husband. He was a nice guy and I could tell he would take good care of her. They refused when I offered an envelope as a present, I had to stuff it into his pocket.

She was sad to learn that Sally and I were no longer together even though they were never really friends. She looked great, had the color back in her cheeks and was completely fixated on the child. She had aged nicely was still pretty and had a different strength.

They now lived near Ubud and had good jobs in the garment industry. No mention was made of the previous affair, but I caught her looking at Made’s old house with sadness in her eyes.